


Take Me Down

by CC99trialanderrorgirl



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Crying, Desperation Play, Dom!Mike, Fluffy Ending, Light D/s, Light Omorashi, M/M, No suits were harmed in the making of this fic, Sub!Harvey, Wetting, slight watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 04:33:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18113375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC99trialanderrorgirl/pseuds/CC99trialanderrorgirl
Summary: Most people don't realize it, but Harvey Specter is fucking begging to be put down.Mike notices, and does.And Harvey? Harvey finally gets a little relief.As they say, heavy is the head that wears the crown...





	Take Me Down

Most people don’t realize it, but Harvey Specter is fucking _begging_ to be put down. That mantle of self control must weigh tons…heavy is the head, and all that. Other people are fooled by the power suits and the perfect hair and the snarky demeanor, but not Mike. Mike _notices_.

Mike sees through the bullshit bravado and into the man beneath. A man crying out for attention, for something real, but most of all, for the opportunity to relinquish his burden. Mike knows this, and he’s willing to give it to him. One night when they’re alone at Pearson Hardman, Mike sees the opening. And Harvey…Harvey tumbles right into it, rushing into the space like he’s begging for it on purpose, even though he’d swear an oath to the contrary. Harvey doesn’t know. But it’s okay that Harvey doesn’t know. Because Mike does, and Mike can do this for him.

So when Harvey starts pacing the floor, shoes eating up the ground in front of him, practically vibrating with need masked as aggression and stress, Mike takes the opening. “Hey,” he says. “Harvey,” he says. “Do you maybe want to go pee?”

“What? No!” Harvey snaps, annoyed and embarrassed to be caught out as a mere mortal. But then he looks back at Mike, and his eyes are burning.

Mike wordlessly hands Harvey a bottle of water and the next set of briefs before resettling himself on the couch. Twenty minutes later, Harvey is pacing again, one hand running through his hair, and the water bottle hasn’t even been opened.

Mike looks at Harvey. “Drink,” he says, and it’s a tone he’s never used with Harvey before. Strong, assured…like he knows something Harvey doesn’t know. And he does. Oh, he does.

Mike can tell Harvey doesn’t like it. Not on an intellectual level anyway. But emotionally…emotionally, Harvey is responding, is coming alive under Mike’s expert verbal touch. He’s stopped pacing, and he’s downing the water bottle like he’s got something to prove. Mike smirks, let’s Harvey stew for a while.

An hour later, Harvey is vibrating in his chair.  
Mike walks over to him, holds himself tall and assured as he leans over the desk. “I thought you didn’t have to pee,” he teases, and Harvey winces. Mike drops the emotional shields he’s used to keeping up, lets the power of his presence bleed through, and channels it all into a stare at Harvey, who is currently trying to scoff and play this off. But Mike sees the exact moment when Harvey picks up on the shift in the atmosphere, because a full body shiver takes him, and if that isn’t a sight, the great Harvey Specter, losing even a tiny bit of that vaunted self control.

“I…” Harvey trails off, clearly angry and confused, but underneath that, desperate, and desperately _wanting_. Mike knows Harvey doesn’t know how to let himself have this. But that’s okay. Because Mike can give it to him anyway, can offer this up. “I must be getting tired, that’s all,” Harvey concedes, and rubs a hand over his face.

“No,” Mike says, sing song, “I think you just have to pee. _Really_ bad,” he emphasizes, and then he plops back down on the couch, highlighter already back in his mouth, and it’s all Harvey can do to look up at him, a deer caught in the headlights. Harvey Specter speechless, that’s a milestone, too. Mike hides his smile behind his hand as he flips the page on the briefs he’s supposed to be proofing while Harvey shifts in his chair and tries to be discreet.

Mike notices anyway.

A hour later, Harvey finally says it. “Mike.” That’s it, that’s all, just his name. It speaks volumes. Then, a few minutes later, he says more. “I have to…” he trails off.

Mike smirks, keeps scanning the documents in his lap.

Twenty minutes later, Harvey jerks in his chair. “Jesus Christ, Mike,” he bursts out, “this game isn’t, I have to, I can’t…”

“Can’t finish a sentence?” Mike tries, trying to annoy. He succeeds. Harvey looks suitably distressed. It’s very cute. Not five minutes later, Harvey says it.

“Please.”

It’s flat, no inflection, completely matter of fact, but _he says it_.

Mike looks up, momentarily shocked. He didn’t think Harvey would actually say it. Holy shit.

“Look Mike, I don’t really understand this game, what you’re getting out of this, but seriously, I think I’m done now, I’m gonna…” Harvey’s voice is impressively even for the level of urgency reflected in his eyes, but when he trails off, Mike simply says, “no.”

His tone brooks no argument; he infuses the single syllable with every bit of dominant energy he possesses, and Harvey collapses back into his seat. Five minutes alter, his head is in his hands, and he’s moaning. He tries getting up, immediately sits back down again.

“Nope, worse.” Harvey says to himself. Mike laughs.

“Seems like maybe you do have to pee after all,” he jokes.

Harvey glares at him, then seems to catch on that maybe if he says it, the weird spell in the room will be broken and he’ll be able to make himself leave.

“Nope,” Mike says, before Harvey even says another word.

“But you don’t even –“ Harvey starts to say, but Mike cuts him off.

“Oh, but I do. I really, really do, Harvey,” he says, smirking wide and proud before something darker takes over his features.

Mike gets up from the couch, steps right in behind Harvey’s chair, and his breath whispers against Harvey’s neck when he leans in to say, “I know how bad you have to pee right now. And you’re not leaving this room until you don’t have to pee anymore.”

“Wh-what?” Harvey says, clearly thrown, undeniably breathless.

“Why don’t you let me help you,” Mike says, and cups the back of Harvey’s neck, firm and sure. And Harvey…Harvey melts. Not too much, because he’s putting a lot of effort into not peeing at this point, but Mike can feel it happen, the tension in his tendons of his neck draining away minutely.

“Let’s go over here,” Mike says, and steers Harvey until his nose is literally touching the glass of the expansive window on the outer wall. Mike steps right up behind him, fingers unbuttoning Harvey’s jacket and spreading the sides apart, nails digging in gently just over his abdomen. Harvey convulses, jerking in Mike’s hands.

“It’s heavy, isn’t it?” Mike says, keeping his tone conversational, light.

“What- what is?” Harvey asks, and he sounds not a little panicked to be getting caught out.

“The weight of pretending,” Mike says, light and easy, like it’s nothing. He feels Harvey tense, feels him start to gather back up his walls, pretend to fight it.

“You could,” Mike says knowingly. “But why bother?” He steps up closer, fists his free hand in Harvey’s hair, and pulls Harvey’s head back. Harvey moans.

“You want this?” Mike asks. “I know you don’t want to admit it. But I have to ask, once.” He says it quiet, honest, kind.

Harvey looks pained. He’s shaking hard now, with the effort of holding it in and the embarrassment–arousal-excitement taking over what’s left of his rational mind. Something primal is taking effect, and Mike knows Harvey is scared, but wanting.

“I got you,” he says, and presses down hard against Harvey’s abdomen. “Let go.” Mike says the words as he takes in the picture of Harvey, reflected back to him in the night-darkened windows, and there, interspersed with the pinpricks of light from the city beyond the panes is Harvey himself, taken _down_ : neck bared and sweat dripping down his face, pupils blown wide, thighs shaking, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and he tries to fight what even he, Harvey Specter, cannot control forever. “Let go,” Mike whispers again, a teasing murmur against the back of Harvey’s neck. What happens next surprises Mike.

Harvey collapses, sudden and damning, falling to his knees on the floor, sobbing openly now. He’s shaking violently, repeating the words over and over, “I can’t, Mike, I can’t. I want to…I _can’t_.” He sounds almost manic, and Mike’s heart breaks a little for this man, this strong man who has denied himself the pleasure of what he wants because he thinks he can’t have it. Or, more likely, because he thinks others can’t _handle_ it. Everyone always needs Harvey Specter to be _Harvey Specter_. Only Mike is able to let Harvey just be...Harvey. No titles, no acumen, nothing but himself, knocked down to his most primal elements.

“It’s okay, Harvey,” Mike says, and he means, I won’t think less of you, I know that the people who carry the most control are the ones who need to release it the most, I can give this to you, let me, let me, _let me_ …

And suddenly Harvey is pitching forward, crying openly, gasping out, a final horrified gasp, “I can’t h-" and then his slacks are soaking, filling with it and dripping down to the rug beneath Harvey’s knees. And Harvey is just surrendering to it, forehead against the cool glass, shaking and crying as it pours out of him. Distantly, Mike is aware of himself coming in his pants, his arms around Harvey, his chest pressed up against Harvey’s shaking back.

This is…beautiful. He is…privileged. Harvey is…magnificent like this. Always. Simply is.

When it’s over, Mike hugs Harvey to him, tells him how well he did, how much he still respects him, and then he accidentally says the words he hadn’t meant to say:

“I love you.”

Harvey’s head whips around, and he stares. “You _love_ me?” he asks, incredulous. “How?” He glances down at his soaking lap, as if to say, I am a freak and a failure, but Mike just shakes his head and laughs. “Because I already know you, and you know me, and there’s something special between us that isn’t there with anyone else,” he says, like it’s that simple, like Harvey’s preferences and needs aren’t a problem, like he _doesn’t_ have to hide behind a mantel of perfect control for the rest of his life. If Harvey cries a little when he says, “Thank you,” and “I’ve loved you since the hotel,” then Mike is happy to pretend not to notice.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, and offers Harvey his hand.

Harvey takes it.

 

-FIN-

**Author's Note:**

> I know this isn't everyone's cup of tea but I'm actually really freaking proud of this story. I hope some others out there get something out of it, too!


End file.
